Author: Katherine

Poetry writer and author

The homeless person

You who never knew a home
Never feel quite free to roam.
Fall into your cosy bed.
And roam free in your dreams instead.

A friend who never texts you back
Cares not that he care may lack.
‘T is a proof that he would rather
Be self absorbed than do a favour.

If your husband gives you money,
Sends you out to buy more honey.
‘T is a proof of his sweetness.
Therefore goodnight and may God bless.

Geometry ,my foot

If you love me as a whole
You’ll love my feet.
They are bent into strange shapes
Quite mathematical.
A right angle at the base of my big toe,
A parabola under my arch
Semi circle of heel.
There are no straight lines here.
Euclid’s geometry’s no use for this surface,
And its several dimensions.
Riemann is the one for me.
His theory of the curved nature of space
May have been based on
A loving examination of a woman’s foot.
An ant has no trouble making the passage
From left to right.
How could have anyone believed
The world is flat?
I walk along the shoreline of my mind
To see what treasures
Dreams have cast up,before
They sink back into the sand
Trickling through my fingers
Like time itself.
As Blake saw Eternity in such a grain
What would he think of
Holkham Beach?
Miles of pale sand,facing direct North.
Whereas for you,my lover,
I am your Magnetic North,I hope.
Time to make progress
On this art:
“Sketch your own foot.”
But will anyone believe this
Lunatic script.My feet were made for
Someone who lived up a tree,
Not for Manolo Blahnik shoes
And heels.
Take me to the zoo,
I’ll meet my own kind there!

I wonder


I wonder who this stranger is,
Who read my poem and walked away
But never said his soul was burning
On a nuclear power station in Japan

His eyes were on Libya
But he stopped here,and read and then passed
On across what was once a green English metaphor,
Garlanded with daisies.My hero,my Odysseus.
The metaphors were made for you.
The web was woven and unwove,so
Wherefore art thou,Antonio?

Do not go gentle into that dark night
Send me an email
I’ll wash you with the grit of shells from Dover Beach,
Where the world collapsed into an arch
Across nothingness into zero itself,the sun,the moon.
All shrank into this diamond.
I give it to you,stranger.

Look stranger and stranger


 W.H.Auden wrote a wonderful poem called “Look stranger on this island now” 

Look ,stranger on this island now.
The leaping light is leaps yet.
Standing silent is hard what with all the mobiles
And the traffic.
Something is making me sway
But it’s not the sound of the sea,
It may be the distant sound of bombs.
I may vomit.
Here at the edge of a field
Lie people killed so some other people
Can have a better future.
The chalk wall is collapsing into the foam
Not to mention the odd earthquake which

Wrecks the East.
Nuclear.

My heart quakes because I love you,
And I’m afraid you prefer the computer.
And all this comes into my mind when I stare
Across the horizon.There’s something wrong.
We are standing on the edge of an English meadow
In spring.But in some sense such a meadow
No longer exists.

Look stranger on this island now.
Delight is stll possible,
Is it probable?
The foam at the edge of the waves
Leaves a white curve on the sand,
I walk through and remember you,
Even though I lost you.
You were tall with green eyes,
And you died of computer news overdose.
I miss you so much ,and the world in your eyes
I want you to tell me, where are you?
Here and there,we remember similar stories
Of heroes returning from far away battles
But the battles are here
And the heroes have departed.
I remember Odysseus and his journey.
But like the green meadow
We have no soul for that,
We’re on the edge
And waiting.

Crack,crack.

The storm of grief

Grief was a storm of turbulent particles
Hitting me hard as hailstones in my face.
Uncertainty about position or momentum
Led me down strange wild paths of loss.
I kept my head down to protect my eyes,
Allowing just enough vision to see five feet ahead..

Darkness and storm kept me from understanding where I was
Or if anyone other shared the same wavelength.
I curved elliptically around obstacles,
Dividing into separate bundles,
Of flesh,  of blood,
Reunited, I felt the grief the more,
I was hit again and again,but my dizzy momentum,
The obstinacy of the human heart,
Carried me forward,though my position became
Ever more uncertain in the icy wastes of life.
Somewhere,sometime,reunite me into human,
Give me rebirth,my atoms spinning backwards
As I propel me down the birth canal,
The bright light and the screeaming
Which comes from me,
Mother, Father ,from me.
Elemntary as I am.

Heavenly Blogging

There  was a late woman from Devon

Who was blogging when she got to heaven
When God asked her why
She said “though I died,
I still want to keep being lovin’.

The angels like laptop computers
And asked BT for wireless routers,
They need tech support,
So goes the report,
A new career dawns for tech tutors.

Gabriel could sent Mary an email
To fill her in on the detail.
“God has  impregnated you,
I’ll email Joe too,
As we don’t want this venture to fail”

Sunday starts sunny

Sea shore

Slanting seascape
Slanting seascape

Source: Kathryn1000
Mind doodles
Mind doodles

A duck
Graph of lady
Graph of  a lady

Sunday

This morning we woke to bright sun.

This good weather seems to go on.

Yet it’s still winter time

And I cannot rhyme

So now this poor limerick is done!

We went to the market last week.

And saw a young man with a beak

His father was a duck.

What very bad luck.

Because beaks make it harder to speak!

We saw lots of ripe fruit and berries

I am tremendously fond of red cherries.

So we bought two bags full

And proceeded to Mull,

Though personally I prefer Kerry.

Mulling is useful sometimes

Especially when one’s short of good rhymes.

But mulling too much

Is not beneficial as such.

Because it causes  deep grooves in our minds

Geese fly by

LANGUAGE OF WINTER GEESE

I have done work on this, altering some phrases and bringing in a new verse,the penultimate one.I am saying that though we may use the language we were born into we can use it in new ways,maybe creating a completely new vision or description of our worlds.Or we may even invent new words but we are born into a society and a language which structures our perceptions and relationships from infancy onward
English is a very rich language as it has been formed out of a large numberof languages of different peoples who have lived here [invaded] from the Romans onwards.Celtic tribes ,Ancient   Britons,      Anglo Saxons,Vikings,Normans,Flemish immigrants etc etc.We also have many words emanating from classical Greek.I think that is because until a hundred years ago Education,for those privileged to have access to it,was almost entirelystudying Latin and Greek,[ both language and philosophyfrom the works of Plato,Aristotle etc]It you wanted to do maths at Cambridge you did Classics first.So all those higher up,educated, wealthy people were familiar with these languages and the classical authors.They would also be very familiar with the writings in The Bible,but probably not Hebrew,Aramaic and related tongues.The Bible was probably read in Latin until the Reformation.So the English Bible is a translation of a translation at the very least.

WILD GEESE FLYING OVER OUR  GARDEN
Leaves have gone so suddenly
Small birds float on the wind
Like boats astride a choppy sea.
Their swaying soothes my mind.

Wild geese fly past at dusk again,
They head towards the North.
The holly berries glow in sun,
                                                     Holy is joy‘s birth

I gaze intently at the sky,
The clouds hang dark and low.
If I were just a  wild  white goose
I’d know which way to go.

But I am left with just these words 

To seek my own life’s goal
Words which  will convey to me
Wisdom from  the old

We use our words in unique ways.
We structure them to form
A new design not seen before
A new sentence is born

I throw my words with love towards you
I hope you safely catch ..
Return me answers from your heart 
And I’ll do my best to match.

Falling into a full stop

ON FALLING DOWN A FULL STOP AT THE END OF A SENTENCE.I can’t recall precisely how I wrote it this poem.It came from a strange elsewhere in my mind.I think it carries an interesting message……if you can’t acknowledge your hatred, if you deny it exists, even to yourself then it may cause havoc in your life.This does not mean l ofetting it rip either.It is very painful to hate someone you love.This is the dilemma of the infant and of all of us in li

I think I began to write it by choosing a long word at random and seeing how many words I could make from that.Then through staring blankly and in a friendly manner at these words a poem began to come into existence.It seemed to write itself especially towards the end.It certainly surprised me with its advent.I can hardly believe I have written it,though wide and narrow focus in seeing are of special interest to me.They first came to my attention in the book “A Life of One’s Own” by Joanna Field [Marion Blackett-Milner] and in her later book “On not being able to Paint”
Wonderful books, still available from e.g. amazon

Blind sight scattered my wits
Like whitened bones
Across the deserts of my mind.
I descended into blackness.

Love shrank into the tame cat
By the fire,unacknowledged hate
Grew to fill the room.

I stared too much,
A full stop grew gigantic
Crowded out
All the words in the sentence

I saw nothing but this dot
Now a gigantic black hole
Into which I was dragged.

An energy coming from my own head,
Sucked me into the black hole.
That place was the wrong sort of darkness.

Within that full stop,
Love Fundamental became invisible.
Disappeared into the dark.

I dragged my eyes away
And saw the moon appear ,eerie,
It shone,grey silver.

If I had opened my eyes wider
I would not now lament
What I destroyed in the wormhole
Of the black dot that drew my eye
Into a tunnel of darkness.
t blinded me to the light Did not let me read the sentences
Beside the full stop.

An error of focus left hate
Unacknowledged,unmitigated,unredeemed,
Kept apart from love or goodness.

Afraid to spoil my love with hate,
The fear of hate became
That which spoiled all else,
By freezing Love itself.

Gene for blogging?

Is blogging a genetic trait?
I’d like to buy new genes today.
My parents never owned
A word processor or a phone.
So it’s their fault I lack genes today.

My cats are all full of genes
They still don’t know what I mean.
So I put them to bed
When they had been fed.
So now I have all their outfits to clean

The End is nigh

The last post has sounded so the end is nigh.

My poetry is not too bad,

But it’s not too good either!

It’s achieved a moderate success..

But HubPages has a better layout

And the people are willing to give

Critiques and comments.

Blogger is very easy to use.

But it’s maybe too big.

So if you like any of my poems SAVE them

Because since I had the accident last week

I realise I have to restrict my output to where it’s most effective

So I may try to save what’s here into a folder

Then put ot on a disc.

So ,whoever you are??????????????

Who are you??????????????????

Now may be the time we say goodbye.

Goodbye………………………………………………….xx

The last post

I had the last post with you
One reader and one blogger
I fell in love with you
My blog will now last forever.

I wrote my last post today
A  task that made no sense
But please keep reading all the time,
 I need adsense for the pence.

I had the last post from my brain
It’s taking industrial action,
So read this now and evermore.
I’ll be in bed, enjoying complete satisfaction
I had this last post with you
One blogger for one reader
I love to write for you,
But This lady feels you don’t  really need her!

Addicted to blogging

I once was addicted to blogging.
It was just like falling off a logging.
But noone read me

So now I can see
I really prefer lots of hugging.

I used to write posts every day.
That is the bloggers  daft way.
But I was talking to air.
Noone was there.,
So now I am not going  to say.

I used to like writing verse,
Especially if it was terse.
But I lost the knack
So until it comes back
I’m going to get steadily worse.

I may start writing  poems with no form.
That is the modern day norm.
But I like merry tunes
And sivery moons.
Free verse would cause a mindstorm

I’m going to get worser and worse.
At verse ,Oh ..curse

I wonder

I need to get better key words
Because nobody reads this
Just on one day only,
Fifty people did
For no obvious reason
So I’ll study key words
And bard words
And swear words
And funny words
And your words
Love words
Buzz words
Good words
Bad words/
Crime words
Our words
All words.
Key words
To open the door
To unlock your mind
To let you in
Or out.
Key words are magic
They’re a spell.
So I’ll treaat them well
As well as I do you
And you and all of you.
I’ll make a word tree
For history.

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